Divided
by crassreine
Summary: Lost little boys always seem to find each other. AU, time-travel.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim any ownership over anything related to Harry Potter.

**Warnings:** Het, slash, swearing, violence, clichés, typos, etc.

**A/N: **Criticism, opinions, comments, all types of reviews welcomed.

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He woke in a hospital bed. The sterile environment and harsh light were an almost comforting familiarity, but along with it came worry for the reason he was there. He did not remember much at first. The reason for him being here, with an IV strapped to his arm and rough bandages wrapped around his torso, everything was lost in the fragments of his shattered memory that was slowly leaking back, but not aligning in any way that made sense.

Flashes and images, faces, hands, blood and screams, horrors that would have made most men scream were familiar, not frightening. So few memories free of pain and torment, a childhood full of starvation and constant anxiety, a life that should have broken him. And perhaps it had, and that was the reason he now lay in a hospital bed.

A nurse came into the room and stopped beside another bed, where another man whose face was blistered and red, but whole, lay. The man's other leg was missing below the knee and the little finger of his left hand was lost. He was asleep, or perhaps in a coma.

The nurse had finally noticed he was awake, and with a professional smile on her painted lips hurried to him, and he blinked at the thick eye-shadow and outrageous hair. The bleached blond was curly and puffed up, her entire appearance was like a shocking flashback of the eighties he'd never experienced.

"Good morning sir," she smiled widely, her long painted nails shocking against the whiteness of her uniform. "Can you tell me your name? I'm afraid there was no identification on you when they brought you in."

He hesitated, and it was enough to make her frown, but it was worry, not suspicion that filled her face. So at least where they had found him was not a horror scene. Given his life, from which he still had not made full sense of, he'd worried they'd found him steeped in someone else's blood.

"How about the date?" she asked when he did not answer her. Deciding to play it safe, he shook his head numbly. "Anything you remember?"

He thought what would be safe to tell her, and then remembered something that had most likely caused his current state, and decided some of the truth would do. "Light, a lot of light, and sharp pain."

She was nodding, and moved to the end of his bed and picked up the chart. "Your condition coincides with an electric shock. And you were found near power lines."

"Could you tell me the date?" he asked.

"Would you like the year as well?" she asked, compassionate and he nodded. "Fourth of June 1988."

Numb, he closed his eyes and let the shock pass. He never doubted her words. Her appearance fit in too well, better than if she had been just a retro fan.

"I'll tell the doctor you're awake," she told him and left the room, leaving him alone to ponder on the odd images filling his mind, of the divided memories that echoed each other so closely that at times they seemed to be the images that belonged to a single life, not two.

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He walked down the street in clothes one of the nurses had gotten for him, all his possessions gathered in a plastic bag, his wand still thankfully intact, along with a purse full of gold coins and American dollars, enough money to buy a small country. He carried most of his fortune in a specially spelled pouch, as he had from the moment it had become clear there would be no safe place, no home for him.

His first action was to find a homeless man and to steal his life. The man that had woken with amnesia in a hospital had already been wiped from the hospital's records and from the memory of everyone that had seen him.

He walked down the street that's name he remembered from the records he'd eagerly devoured when finding family had still been something that mattered, and searched through every alley, looked at every doorway, and under every staircase until he finally found the right one.

He found the body buried under a heap of dirty clothes, and there was a bottle of something by the pale hand. It was too dark to be water, and he doubted it was juice or soda. It could be alcohol or something poisonous. He wasn't interested in finding out.

Taking in a deep breath he kneeled by the body and moved a piece of cloth from the man's face to make sure this was the man he was looking for. Pasty white face, dark eyes open, staring up, mouth agape and matted dark hair, still just as unruly as his was.

Swallowing down his nausea he pushed back the rest of the blankets and other pieces of clothing and searched through the man's pockets, finding a wallet and a key to storage locker in a bus-station. The wallet was almost empty, there was no money, but there was a driver's license dated a few years back from a different state. The man in the picture looked like him enough that he could fool the officials before he got his passport, and went to England and disappeared to the Wizarding World.

Thomas Potter's life had been relatively uneventful until he'd turned fifteen. He'd been raised by his mother who'd been a witch, but had made her living as a prostitute. As far as prostitutes went, she'd been high-class and had made enough money to keep her son well-fed, provide him with decent clothes and a proper education in distinguished school.

That had all changed when the mother had died. If she'd been in contact with her brother in England, James Potter's father, it could have been possible that Thomas would have been sent to England, but instead he had been picked up by the state and tossed from one foster home to the other. He'd ran away at some point only to be found years later rotting in the back end of an alley. No one was quite sure what had happened to him, and no one had cared. He'd been Twenty-eight when he'd died. Only a year older than the man kneeling beside him.

He stood, the wallet and the key to a locker in his hand, pulled out his wand, pointed it at the corpse, muttered an incantation and the body disappeared. Thomas Potter stepped out of the alley much different then he'd stepped into it.

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Harry bit his lip, tried to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks, all the while clutching his arm. There was blood everywhere and his teacher was screaming at the nurses and all Harry could think was that he wouldn't be fed when he got home, not after Dudley got detention for shoving Harry down the stairs. He was sure Uncle Vernon would blame him for getting Dudley in trouble.

A nurse finally came over, showed him to an empty room with a desk, an examination table and a few chairs, then closed the door and left him alone.

The second door leading to the door opened and another woman stepped out. She had blond hair, a kind smile and a white doctor's coat over a pair of jeans and a white shirt. "Hello Harry," she said. "I heard you were hurt."

Harry sniffled, pulled his arm away from his chest and showed her the bloody bandages the school nurse had wrapped around his arm. "It's…it's broken," he mumbled, remembering what the school nurse had said and why the teacher had brought him to the hospital.

The woman approached him slowly with a kind smile on her face, and kneeled down before him. She started peeling off the bandages, and every time her hand moved around his arm, the pain lessened a bit, until she was finally done, the bandage gone, and his arm didn't hurt at all, and the only proof that there had ever been anything wrong was the blood.

"That's that, then," the woman said, and for the first time Harry noticed the strange way she spoke, like some of the people in the telly. She sounded American. "Now is there anything else?" she asked and her fingers brushed against his forehead.

"It doesn't hurt," Harry said, knowing she was looking at his scar. It was in his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt, and he'd always had it.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked, her fingers still on the scar. "There isn't much that can cause a scar like this, and none of them are nice things."

"What did you do to my arm?" Harry asked, insistent on getting an answer to his question.

"I healed it," she answered, smiling as if there was nothing strange about it. "Now let's talk about that scar of yours. Can you tell me where you got it?"

"In the car crash that killed my parents," Harry said.

The woman frowned, took her hands from his forehead and stood up straight. "There's no need to lie to me, Harry. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to, but don't lie."

"I'm not lying," Harry said, fisting his hands in frustration. "That's how I got it. I've always had it, and Aunt Petunia told me I got it in the car crash that killed my parents."

The angry look bled from the woman's face and the kind smile returned, but there was an oddly sharp glint in her eyes now. "Harry, do you think, and I want you to think about it before you answer, but do you think your Aunt might have lied to you about where you got the scar?"

Harry did think about it, and even though he knew right away his Aunt could have very well lied about that, because she'd lied about a lot of things, he didn't say anything yet because he didn't want the woman to think he wasn't taking her seriously. So when he finally answered her, he shrugged and said, "Maybe."

The woman's smile twitched like she was trying to suppress a laugh, and the lines at the corners of her eyes deepened as she squinted. "That scar," she said and pointed at his forehead. "Came from something horrible, Harry, but it wasn't a car crash."

Her words frightened him, and nervously he glanced behind his back at the closed door and wondered where his teacher was.

"Do you believe in magic, Harry?" she asked, and Harry looked at his arm. Before he would have said no, but now he wasn't sure. "Magic, just like anything else can do a lot of good things, and a lot of bad things. Whoever gave you that scar Harry, did something very bad."

"You said who, not what," Harry pointed out and the woman smiled as if glad he'd noticed. That was something new for Harry. No one had ever been happy when he showed how smart he was.

"Very good Harry. I'm glad you noticed that." She even sounded pleased. "Someone, probably a very bad man gave you that scar, and they did something that left you with a piece of them inside it."

Harry swallowed and brought his hand to the scar. "Can you take it off?" he asked, for some reason believing the woman, even though it sounded strange. But something had always been strange about him, something that made the word 'magic' feel real. And he had dreams of green light and screams and pain.

"It can be done," the woman said, and something tight eased in Harry's chest. "Now I need you to sit down on the bed close your eyes and think of something you like. Can you do that for me, Harry?"

Harry nodded and climbed on the bed, wrinkling the white paper it was covered with. His feet swung and he bit on his lip and fiddled with his glasses, nervous. But then the woman was standing before him, taking hold of his hands and calm bled into Harry. He looked up and was almost blinded by the white light that spilled from her. The light travelled form their joined hands to Harry, filling him with warmth and happiness, and he felt it struggle with something bleak and dark, and angry.

It was evil, and it was inside him and he wanted it gone.

Harry gripped tighter on the woman's hands, and stared in to her eyes from which all the blue had bled to whiteness, and let out a scream, a cry of outrage and fear and pushed against the evil thing inside him. Something within Harry, something hot and cold, warm and icy, angry and furious and his, completely his, woke and rushed to push and pull and tear at the evil and dark thing, and together with the light they made it wither and shrivel and flee.

Harry felt his eyes roll in the back of his head, and lulled by the white light he fled to dreams that were gentle and light, and felt free and weightless and wonderful.

In the dream he stood in a field of wild flowers of all kind and colours, under a perfect sky with white clouds, and soft golden light that was both warm and cool.

There was a woman there, and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She smiled and held out her arms and Harry ran to her and she wrapped him in her embrace and held him tightly. "My brave little boy," she told him and caressed his cheek.

Harry looked in her eyes, green like the new grass of spring and knew them, remembered those eyes looking at him from that same face, surrounded by her red hair.

He felt tears run down his cheek, and they were cold against his cheek and she wiped them like a mother, his mother would and gave him a smile filled with love and anguish for his pain. "Mum," he whispered brokenly, and cried harder when she framed his face with her hands and kissed him on the forehead.

"We love you, and we are so proud of you Harry, never forget that," she spoke, and made him believe that not everything would always be grim and hopeless, that some day he could be happy.

She stood and Harry looked up and saw a man with messy dark hair, round glasses and a smile like his.

The light grew bright, blinded him but Harry kept his gaze on both of them for as long as he could and basked in their love and acceptance. It stayed with him when he woke, and opened his eyes in the doctor's office, with his teacher who blinked his eyes, looking confused.

"Come on Mr Potter, let's get you home now that the doctor's taken care of that cut on your forehead."

Harry lifted his hand to where he knew the scar was and felt a fresh bandage under his fingers.

He would have thought everything that had happened since his teacher had brought him to the hospital his own imagination if he hadn't noticed the strange man following him in the next weeks, or seen the owls with letters tied to their feet, and remembered the feeling from his dream, the love his mother had shown him.

But most of all he noticed his scar. It was still there, but fainter than ever and no one saw it anymore, unless they knew to look for it. And he felt better, less burdened like a great weight had been taken from him. The power he'd felt pushing away the evil thing was still there, but it was weak and strained. It rested inside him, gathering strength, but each passing day it grew stronger and so did Harry.

Nearly a month had passed from his visit to the hospital when the man appeared and changed his life.

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Harry was in the backyard weeding the flower beds when the doorbell rang. It was a Saturday and he was alone with Aunt Petunia. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were gone for the day and Aunt Petunia was using the time and empty house by cleaning it from top to bottom. Harry she had sent to the garden after he had knocked over the water bucket for the third time.

He brushed his hands on his trousers and made his way to the door, toed of his worn sneakers and opened the door quietly. He peeked inside, and when he was sure Aunt Petunia wasn't coming into the kitchen, stepped inside and made his way to the dining room and to the doorway where he chanced a look inside.

Aunt Petunia, wearing a worn down dress she always wore when she was cleaning, looked flustered, twisting her hands together. The man sitting on the sofa looked dark and dangerous, yet something in Harry told him he shouldn't be afraid of him. It might have just been the way he made Aunt Petunia nervous in a way no one in the neighbourhood did, and in Harry's view anything that unsettled Aunt Petunia that didn't include a punishment for him, was a good thing.

"No, it is you who doesn't seem to understand, Mrs Dursley," the man's voice was cold, his face even colder. "I have in my possession statements from the boy's teachers, his hospital records that show neglect and starvation, and pictures of his living conditions. If I wished, I could have you sent to prison along with your husband, sue you for every pound and have your son taken from you."

"But the letter…" Aunt Petunia said, her voice weak.

"There are other ways to arrange for it, and none of them require anything from you." The man pulled up a briefcase, laid it on the table and opened it. He took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Aunt Petunia. "Just sign it. I'll take full responsibility of the boy."

"But Vernon… My husband… I need."

"Mr Dursley is not your nephew's guardian, you are. Sign the papers Mrs Dursley. One way or the other the boy is coming with me." Even Harry, who was safe from the man's icy glare shivered, so it was no wonder Aunt Petunia's hand was shaking when she took the paper.

She read through it quietly, and when she was done she had gained some measure of courage and lifted her chin. She looked straight at the man and with her lips still trembling set the paper on the table. "This says I give up all rights to him or his holdings. The boy has money?" she shrieked. "If the boy has money, it should have been ours! For over seven years we have cared for the boy, fed him, clothed him, given him a roof over his head, and we've had no compensation!"

The man snorted. "A drunk would have taken better care of him. The boy's money is his and if you try to use him to get it, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your days in prison, and your son will be send to an orphanage."

Aunt Petunia swallowed, took the pen the man gave him, signed the paper, and then screamed at the man. "There! I've signed the paper, now you can take the boy and leave and never come back!"

The man calmly took the paper and placed it in his briefcase. Aunt Petunia sat shaking in her chair, never looking up, not even when the man walked around her and headed towards the dining room. He stopped just before entering, and locked eyes with Harry, and the boy gasped when he saw the man's eyes up close. They were the exact shade of new grass, the same as his mother's eyes.

The man held out the hand that was not holding a briefcase, and without even a second of hesitation Harry took it and walked out of his Aunt's house.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry looked around in his new room. His room.

The house was big, two stories, an attic and a basement, a living, room, kitchen, dining room, study and a library filled with all kinds of books and four bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs. One of which was all Harry's, just like the bedroom that's walls were painted pale green and had a two windows, a desk, a wardrobe and a small bed with curtains around it. There was a balcony at the end of the hallway from where you could see the whole backyard and the orchard.

A woman cleaned the house every Friday, and an old man tended to the garden on the weekdays.

The house was new, but it was filled with furniture that had an air of age around them, and at first Harry was afraid to even sit on the couch or on the dining room chairs because he was frightened he would damage or break something.

Everything Harry now had looked expensive. Even his pens that were piled neatly on the desktop gleamed with newness and screamed of money. Harry wasn't used to money being spent on him, but after the first week he'd learned that a pen, even if it was expensive, could still break and be replaced just like a cheap one.

The man that had taken him from Aunt Petunia told him they were cousins from Harry's Father's side, and that's why they shared the same name and looked so much alike. Harry didn't mention the eyes that were like his mother's, or the man's accent that sounded nothing like American, even though that's where he'd said he'd been living before coming to get Harry.

They didn't talk about magic, but it was there.

There were moving pictures in the newspapers his cousin read in the mornings, the dishes on the sink washed themselves and some of the books his cousin read screamed at him and one even chased Harry around the library when he untied the rope around it.

He managed to catch it and tie the rope back around it before his cousin came back inside from the garden where he'd gone carrying a broom, but Harry always suspected the man had known about it, because the book was moved up so Harry couldn't reach it as easily.

Then there was his new school.

Harry wouldn't start there until after Christmas, but he already had all his books and his cousin had been helping him go through them and catch up with anything he might have missed. He even started learning French, something there hadn't been in his old school, but which his cousin told him he would need to learn. Just like he would have to wear the uniform; a white shirt, dark blue jacket, straight pants and a silver tie with the school crest on it.

And he learned how to write with a quill. Harry thought it was silly, but he'd seen his cousin use one to write letters and make notes with when he sat in the study surrounded by books and parchment that smelled new.

Harry only started thinking his cousin by his name after the old man with the long white beard and a strange purple suite came to visit.

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Harry opened the door for him and was instantly greeted with a long fingered hand and an introduction that had too many names for Harry to memorise. He stepped back, not taking the hand or telling his own name and called out for his cousin.

His cousin came to the entrance hall, took one look at the man and his face darkened and he looked almost as scary as he had when talking to Harry's Aunt. The old man kept the jovial smile on his face and patted Harry on the head when he was invited in. Harry grimaced and ruffled his hair, shorter than his cousin's which reached to his chin, but just as messy and impossible to tame.

His cousin led the old man to the library, and even though he'd told Harry to go back to his books he didn't close the door all the way, so Harry decided to stay and listen.

They talked about a lot of things Harry didn't understand. About blood protection, Gringotts and family heirlooms. The old man looked reluctant to concede at all, and Harry's cousin became more and more angry the more the old man spoke.

Then the old man mentioned the Dursleys and family and how they shouldn't be at odds. He suggested Harry go back.

Harry's cousin spoke one word, and with a pop the old man vanished.

Harry pushed open the library door and his cousin looked at him with those same eyes Harry's mum had looked at him, and Harry noticed that they held the same kind of love his mother's had.

Thomas never said anything, but Harry knew he'd never be sent back to the Dursleys and he would always have a home in this big house filled with old furniture and talking books.

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There was a black dog sitting in front of their house.

It followed Harry to school, and waited for him at the school gates. It stood at the edge of the playground when there was a recess and always seemed to be looking at him. It had been following him for a week, and then one day it was gone.

When the man appeared, Harry knew right away it was the dog. There was something familiar in the man's roguish grin and in the mischievous glint in his eyes that made Harry think of the dog, and Harry wasn't all that sure it was a good thing.

He wondered if he should have mentioned the dog to Thomas.

"Hello Harry," the man said, hands in his pockets, leaning against the motorcycle parked on the side of the road where Harry stood waiting for the bus. "I'm your godfather Sirius and your parents wanted me to take care of you if anything ever happened to them."

Harry shifted the weight of his school bag and gripped it tighter, hoping he'd had his heavier books with him, because no one would ever know if the man grabbed him now.

"You shouldn't keep following me," Harry said. "I'm telling my cousin and he'll have you thrown to jail if you try anything." One of the school teachers had noticed the man and was walking towards them. It was never a good sign when grown men hung around schools and talked to young boys. Even Harry knew that much.

The man, Sirius, had noticed the teacher too but didn't seem worried, but he looked back at Harry, nodded and climbed on to the motorcycle. Before he started the engine he turned back to Harry and said, "I'll talk to your cousin then, Harry. I hope we'll be good friends soon."

By the time Harry got home the motorcycle was already standing in front of his house and the library doors were closed. This time Harry didn't even try to listen in, but headed upstairs to his room to do his homework.

By the time Harry had finished his homework and headed downstairs, the library door was open and when he looked outside he saw that the motorcycle was gone. He found Thomas in the kitchen chopping up vegetables, potatoes and meat boiling on the stove and cheery music playing on the radio.

Thomas looked up when Harry entered the kitchen, already changed from his school-uniform to jeans and a T-shirt. Thomas gestured to the kitchen cabinet with the knife and Harry took out two plates and glasses and carried them to the dining room. He came back for the utensils and was just about to leave the kitchen with them when Thomas put down the knife and gestured Harry towards a chair by the kitchen table.

Thomas sat down across from him and folded his hands on the table. Harry dropped the utensils and waited for Thomas to start talking. It was a long wait, but he finally did.

"I haven't told you much about your parents, have I?" Thomas asked and Harry shook his head. The only thing Thomas had told him was that Harry's dad and Thomas had been cousins. They didn't talk about Harry's mum or her family, because neither of them liked to be reminded of the Dursleys.

"Then maybe it's about time I did," Thomas said, but then the timer beeped and Thomas got up to take the potatoes of the stove. With his back turned to Harry he said, "We'll talk after dinner."

Harry got up, gathered the forks and knives and went to the dining room and waited for Thomas to bring the food. He sat in silence, not sure what he should be feeling right now. He'd always wanted to know about his parents, but the burning need had waned after his dream of the meadow and when he'd come to live with Thomas.

Thomas came in, carrying a pot and Harry hurried back to the kitchen for the milk. Thomas had said they'd talk after dinner, and Harry could wait.

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They were sitting in the living room, the low table between and the empty fireplace on their side, the candles on its mantel lit despite the sunlight still streaming through the windows.

"Does this have anything to do with the man?" Harry asked, and Thomas looked up, a little startled.

"What man?" he asked, but Harry knew Thomas knew who Harry meant.

"The man with the motorcycle who's been following me as a dog," Harry answered. "He said he was my godfather."

Thomas shifted in the chair, looking uncomfortable. "Yes, it has something to do with him."

"Is he really?" Harry asked, and then elaborated. "My godfather, I mean. And if he is, why didn't he take care of me when my parents died. He said that's what they wanted."

Thomas looked even more uncomfortable and leaned forward on his chair. "That takes a bit longer to explain, and I think we should start at the beginning of it all. And it started long before you were even born."

Harry lifted his feet from the floor and laid his hands on his crossed ankles. Something told him he should get comfortable.

"You know there is magic and what you might have guessed is that there is a whole community of people with magic that is hidden from the world. There are Magical communities in every country, some better hidden than others, and some call themselves as something other than wizards and witches, as we do here in Britain. You Harry, are a wizard, as am I and Sirius." Thomas paused here and looked at Harry to see if he had any questions, but the boy just nodded. Most of it he had already guessed, though he would have never called himself a wizard, or dared call any girl or woman a witch.

"When your parents were still in school a dark wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort began to gather followers, mostly people that had something against muggles and muggleborns, people that had no magic, or wizards and witches whose parents had no magic. Lord Voldemort was a very charismatic and powerful wizard who, in his words, wanted to cleanse the Wizarding world from the taint of muggles.

"His followers, who were called Death Eaters, used masks to hide their identities. The authorities had no way of knowing who hid behind the masks, murdering wizards and muggles alike. Everyone feared him, and still today the name strikes terror in to the hearts of every wizard and witch and not even his followers spoke his name.

"For over a decade the Wizarding World lived in constant fear. No one knew who to trust, and only a few were brave enough to stand against him in public. Your parents and their friends were among them."

"Is that why they were killed?" Harry asked, pulling his knees to his chest.

"Your parents believed that everyone, whether they had magic or not had a right to live. They did what they thought was right."

"I don't blame them," Harry said, staring at the carpet covered floor. "Something must have stopped him or you wouldn't talk about him like he was gone. What happened?" He lifted his head from the floor and looked at Thomas who diverted his eyes from Harry and looked out of the window.

"On Halloween 1981 Voldemort came to your house. Your family had been hidden by a charm called Fidelius that should have kept them safe, but a traitor revealed their location to Voldemort. Voldemort killed your parents, and turned his wand on you, but something went wrong. Instead of killing you he was vanquished. No one knows what happened that night, but everyone celebrated your victory over him."

Harry lifted his hand to his forehead, and the now almost completely faded scar, remembering the woman from the hospital and her words. _Whoever gave you that scar Harry, did something very bad._

"And Sirius?" Harry asked, not wanting to talk about his parents or Voldemort anymore.

"Everyone thought he was the traitor that had betrayed your parents, and he was sent to prison. They found the real traitor a few months ago and he was released." Thomas leaned back and stayed quiet, letting Harry get used to everything he'd heard.

"Is he really gone?" Harry asked, and Thomas didn't need to ask who he meant.

"If he ever comes back, that's something you don't have to worry about," Thomas said, with a tone that made it sound like a promise, and Harry believed it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** There is some dialogue in this chapter that's basically straight from The Deathly Hallows. So, not claiming that as mine. Yet, when has fan-fiction ever been completely original?

Comments, critique, opinions, all types of reviews welcomed and loved.

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That summer Harry and his cousin focused on the Wizarding World of Britain. They went to Diagon Alley where they visited Gringotts and Thomas showed Harry his vault filled to the brim with gold coins, but told him he wasn't allowed to spend a single galleon of it until he turned seventeen.

Harry thought this to be woefully unfair, especially after they'd been to Jonko's joke shop and seen all the different Wizarding sweets. Sirius agreed with him, but unfortunately Sirius still wasn't one of Thomas's favourite people, and the only reason he'd been allowed to join them was because Harry had asked. He wanted to get to know his godfather.

But when they went to see a Quidditch match, a Wizarding sport where you flew around while heavy balls chased you around the air and tried to knock you down Thomas and Sirius bonded, while Harry tried not to get sick from anxiety and fear. He hoped flying a broom wasn't an essential part of being a wizard.

Though he kept that piece of information to himself and didn't mention it to either his cousin or godfather. He was afraid they'd try to plant him on a broom and tell him to fly or suffer.

They were leaving the area when someone who recognized Sirius shouted and ran over to them. "Black! That really you?"

"Dawlish," Sirius answered, with a welcoming but cautious smile.

"Never thought I'd see you again," the man said. "It was a real mess at the department when Pettigrew was caught. No one could really believe it."

"I can only imagine," Sirius said with a bitter tone and Dawlish's grin waned a bit.

"Look, Black, you know how it was then."

"I know, I know," Sirius replied, waving his hand dismissively. "It was great seeing you, but we should be going."

Dawlish turned his eyes to Sirius' companions. "Oh, didn't notice you were here with someone." He glanced at Thomas, but when he saw Harry his eyes widened. "My world, it's Harry Potter!" he yelled with an almost fanatical gleam.

"Harry Potter? Did he say Harry Potter?"

"The-Boy-Who-Lived is here?"

"Where is he? Mr Potter!"

Thomas pulled out his wand and pointed it at Dawlish who turned pasty white when Thomas snarled at him and the wand tip began to glow bright red. "Idiot," Thomas growled and slashed his arm down without releasing the spell.

The people around them were looking around, yelling, screaming for Harry, rushing and pushing against each other. Thomas bent down, wound his arm around Harry's waist and picked him up. Harry, more frightened than he wanted to admit fisted his hands on his cousin's robes and tried not to listen to the mob scream for his name.

"Get us out of here, Black," Thomas said, his left arm holding Harry tightly around the waist.

"I'll take care of it," Sirius answered, no trace of his usual humour left.

Harry squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his forehead against Thomas's chest, pretending he couldn't hear anything but the heart beating under his ear, and the breath that he felt ghosting along his scalp and ruffling his hair.

They were running, and then someone took hold off Harry's arm, wrapped his fingers around a rope, and he felt a push and a pull, and he was falling through a tunnel, up and down and around, and then it stopped and Harry, still pressed against Thomas's chest tried to stave off his nausea.

"Alright Harry?" Thomas asked, both his arms around the boy now. "I've always hated portkeys too. You never get used to being picked up by your navel and thrown across the country."

Harry, taking in deep inhales, unclenched his fists and lifted his head from Thomas's chest and looked over his shoulder to see where they were. The familiar driveway leading to their house greeted him, and he smiled shakily. He squirmed and Thomas finally let him down.

"I didn't realise it was that bad," Sirius said, wrapping a long around his right hand and frowning. "He's never going to be able to just walk down the street like a normal person, is he?"

Harry turned away from his godfather's grim face and without looking at either man again, started walking towards the house not wanting to hear Thomas confirm it. He didn't want to be The-Boy-Who-Lived if it meant he'd be ripped apart every time he tried to step out. When Thomas had told him, he'd thought being famous would be cool, not frightening.

He ran upstairs to the bathroom and stared at his reflection. He didn't know how the man had recognized him. Was it because of the scar, no matter how faint, or the glasses, round like in all the pictures of his dad, or maybe his hair?

He looked like his dad, Harry knew, but how had a man like Dawlish known his dad well enough to recognise him?

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When Harry came downstairs Sirius and Thomas were in the library, books in hand, but neither looked like they were reading. Their shoulders were tense and their faces still held signs of anger as if they'd been arguing.

Both turned when Harry pushed the door wider, yet neither spoke.

"I want it gone," Harry said lifting his hand rubbing at the lightning bolt scar.

Sirius stood still, but Thomas nodded, put down his book and said, "We'll see a healer, and if they can't help, a muggle doctor."

There was such certainty in Thomas's voice that despite the sceptical look on Sirius' face Harry believed him.

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"So this is your house?" Thomas asked, running a finger along a wall, leaving behind a line free of dust. He lifted his finger from the wall and grimaced at the dust gathered on his finger and looked around, trying to see something not filthy or disgusting to look at, but everything in the house was filthy and decaying.

"Not much to look at, is it?" Sirius grinned and kicked at coffee table that looked frail but proved to be surprisingly heavy when it did not move even an inch and Sirius yelled and hopped on one foot and tried to smother curses.

"Hey, there's some silverware here!" Harry shouted from the other side of the room, staring at a glass cabinet. He turned around and grinned, pushing his fringe from his smooth forehead.

The healers had not been able to do much about the scar, but they had found a woman in Knockturn who had been able to bleed the excess magic from the scar so it was like any other scar, not a curse scar and muggle medicine had done what magic couldn't; vanished all trace of it.

"Don't touch anything!" Sirius yelled and hurried to where Harry stood. "There's no telling how much of its cursed and with what."

Thomas walked over in a much more sedated pace and when he peered at the items he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and gently pulled him back. Harry cast an annoyed glance at him from over his shoulder, but the nine year old let himself be pulled back from the cabinet.

"That's Slytherin's locket!" Sirius yelled. "What the hell is it doing here?" He opened the cabinet but before he could take out the locket Thomas placed his hand on his arm.

"You told Harry not to touch anything, but now you're going to risk getting cursed?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "At least use a handkerchief or something to wrap it in."

Sirius grinned sheepishly and fished a handkerchief from his pocket, and then picked up the locket. He peered at it thoughtfully, and mused aloud "I wonder how it ended up here."

"Don't you have a house elf?" Thomas asked, and Sirius grimaced.

"Foul thing," he muttered, and then bellowed. "Kreacher!"

The elf appeared with a small pop, a scowl already on its face, eyes narrowed in a nasty glare and mouth twisted in a snarl. The thing stank and Thomas covered his mouth and nose and Harry was gagging.

Sirius lifted the locket so Kreacher could see it and asked, "Where did this come from, Kreacher?"

The elf's big eyes widened and its mouth dropped open. "The Dark Lord's locket, it is! Master Regulus told Kreacher to destroy it, but Kreacher couldn't! Kreacher is a bad elf!" The elf wailed, kneeled and started banging its head against the floor.

"Who's Regulus?" Thomas asked, putting some distance between him and the elf, all the while keeping his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"My brother," Sirius answered, his fingers convulsing around the gold locket with the large, snakelike S. "He was a Death Eater and they killed him."

"Ask the elf about the Dark Lord, Black," Thomas ordered. "It said your brother wanted it destroyed."

Sirius' face looked pained, but he pursed his lips together and turned to the elf. "Where did Regulus get the locket, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher brought it to him, just like master Regulus said, yes Kreacher did."

"From the beginning, Kreacher, tell us about the Dark Lord!" Thomas demanded with a sharp voice, causing Sirius to glance at him suspiciously.

"The Dark Lord needed an elf and Master Regulus had offered Kreacher. Kreacher was to be doing a great service for the Dark Lord, a great honour." The elf was crying now, and they had trouble making out the words. "The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a cave, and there was a big, dark lake, that Kreacher crossed on a boat with the Dark Lord. T-there was a basin, a basin full of potion on an island in the lake. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink…drink it, and Kreacher drank and drank and he saw terrible things and it burned, but Kreacher drank it all. Kreacher cried for help, for mistress and master but the Dark Lord laughed and made Kreacher drink it all…"

The elf shivered and sniffled, but when Sirius nudged him with his boot, it continued with the tale. "When the basin was empty, the Dark Lord dropped the locket in the basin and filled it more poison, and then the Dark Lord left, and left Kreacher on the island, all alone… Kreacher needed water, and drank from the lake… the hands, dead hands rose from the lake and dragged Kreacher to the water, and then…and then… Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back." The elf's eyes stared ahead, as if seeing something no one else could.

"Master Regulus was worried, worried for Kreacher and told Kreacher to stay hidden in the house, to not leave, and then…Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard, and Master Regulus was worried, nervous, and he asked… he told Kreacher to take him to the cave Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord…

"Master Regulus gave Kreacher a locket, like the one the Dark Lord had, and he told Kreacher to switch the lockets when the basin was empty, and to go home, and never, never tell mistress, ever and to…to destroy the first locket, and to never to tell… Master Regulus drank, all the potion and Kreacher swapped the lockets and saw… Master Regulus… Master Regulus was dragged to the water and Kreacher couldn't do what Master Regulus had ordered, Kreacher couldn't destroy the locket!"

The elf started banging his head against the floor again, but none of them were paying any attention to it anymore. Sirius was looking at the locket in his hand like it was a living viper, and Thomas had pushed Harry behind him, far away from it.

"I don't understand…" Sirius whispered. "I always thought Regulus was killed because he wanted out, but he…" Sirius shook his head. "He died for this. Why?"

"You should do something about the elf," Thomas said. "It's going to crack its head on the floor soon, and will be even more trouble then it is now."

Sirius shook himself, and eyes still clouded, he looked at the elf moaning and wailing on the floor. "Kreacher, go clean the bedrooms."

In the midst of a wail, Kreacher popped out.

"I should take this to Dumbledore," Sirius said, wrapping the handkerchief around the locket.

"You should," Thomas agreed, and when both Harry and Sirius turned to him, surprised, he shrugged. "He obviously knows more about Voldemort than any of us and probably has an idea about why the locket is so important. I may not like the man, but I can concede that much."

"Why don't you like him?" Sirius asked.

"That's between me and Dumbledore," Thomas said, but Sirius noticed the way his hand tightened around Harry's shoulder and how the boy leaned a little closer to his cousin.

"Yeah, sure," Sirius said distractedly and placed the locket in his pocket. He didn't know what exactly had happened, but by their reactions it was obvious that for some reason Dumbledore hadn't thought Harry should stay with Thomas and had told as much to both. "I know I promised to show you the house, but considering…"

"Another time," Thomas agreed and steered Harry towards the front door, letting Sirius follow them. "Maybe after you've cleaned the place."

"So you figured out I was trying to get you to help me clean, then?" Sirius yelled and heard two almost identical snorts.

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The next time Sirius came to visit, Harry was at school. Since it was the first day of the fall semester, Thomas suspected Sirius had waited intentionally until Harry was gone.

When he opened the door to Sirius, he just stood there, eyes rimmed red, a few days worth of stubble on his chin, looking like he'd missed of a few days of sleep and food. At least he'd showered, even if water and soap couldn't do much for the stink of booze.

"I'll make some coffee," Thomas offered. "I know you Brits usually go for tea, but trust me when I say there's nothing better than coffee when you have a hangover."

Sirius followed him through the house, shoulders hunched, dragging his feet and when they reached the kitchen he collapsed on a chair and lowered his head, keeping his eyes glued to the table top while Thomas filled the coffee machine.

"You don't have an accent," were the first words Sirius spoke to him.

"Practice. Speaking differently makes you noticed and with Harry, I don't want to be noticed." Thomas crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, the coffee machine making noises behind his back. "You don't look like shit because of my accent, or lack of it. Why are you here Sirius?"

His first name made Sirius look up. Thomas had never called him anything but Black and Sirius had thought it would stay that way forever. The only reason Sirius used Thomas's first name was because calling him Potter would have only reminded him of James. It was difficult enough not seeing his dead friend in the faces of both Harry and Thomas when they looked so much like him. The only real difference was Thomas's longer hair and the green eyes that both Harry and Thomas shared. How it was possible for those two to look even more a like than Harry and his father he wasn't sure, but stranger things had happened when purebloods mingled and the Potters had been an old family.

"You remember the locket?" Sirius asked and Thomas nodded and turned to take two cups from the cabinet and poured coffee for them. He set them both on the table sat down and pushed one of the cups to Sirius. "I showed it to Dumbledore and it took him a few days but he finally figured out what it is. It's a Horcrux." Sirius looked up and by the patient expression on Thomas's face he thought it meant he didn't know what it meant. "A Horcrux is a-"

"I know what a Horcrux is," Thomas stopped him.

Sirius let out a haggard breath and coiled his fingers around his coffee mug. "He thinks there's more, more than one," Sirius continued, lifted his hand but it shook so badly that some coffee spilled on the table and his hands. Sirius swore and jumped up, knocking down the chair. "Shit Thomas, he thinks Harry's one!" He hadn't meant to yell it, or even say it. Dumbledore had wanted him to get Thomas to agree for him to meet with Harry.

"He isn't."

"How can you be sure?" Sirius screamed at him, furious Thomas could just sit there calmly, sipping at his coffee.

"Because he was a Horcrux," Thomas told him and all the fight left Sirius.

"What?" Sirius wheezed.

"When Harry broke his arm once in school, when he was still living at the Dursleys, he met a woman in the hospital. She looked like a doctor, but she healed his arm with a few spells, told Harry that a bad man gave him the scar on his forehead and left a piece of himself behind. Harry told me she helped him chase it out, and that he got to meet his parents." Thomas pushed away the coffee mug, raised his head and looked straight at Sirius. "There isn't a lot known about Horcruxes, except that they're almost impossible to destroy. I imagine the only way to get one out of a living person is to kill them."

"So," Sirius swallowed. "So someone killed Harry when he was a kid."

"Yeah."

"That's… That's not…"

"Pretty much my reaction to it," Thomas replied. "I figured out the day Harry broke his arm and went to the hospital but there was no record of Harry ever breaking his arm. They did treat him for a gash on the forehead that same day, and the one who treated it was a male nurse, not a doctor."

"Memory charms," Sirius muttered, almost too quietly for anyone to hear, but Thomas nodded. "I'll have to tell Dumbledore, but he'll want to see Harry."

"No."

"Just for a few moments. I don't understand why you're so dead set against them meeting."

Still holding his mug Thomas stood from the table, reached out to pick Sirius' and placed them both in the sink. He rinsed them, set them on the side of the sink and just when Sirius thought Thomas wasn't going to answer, he spoke.

"Harry's still afraid of the Dursleys. Of being sent back there. When he wakes in the middle of the night he comes to my room, stands in the doorway and just looks at me. I think he wants to make sure I'm still there, that it wasn't a dream. If I'm not home when he comes from school, he panics." Thomas turned around and laughed bitterly. "When Dumbledore came here, he told me to take Harry back there, to those people and Harry heard him. I'm not letting that man anywhere near Harry, not for years to come."

"But Hogwarts-" Sirius started to say and then stopped himself. "The French lessons. You're not letting him go to Hogwarts, are you?"

Thomas shrugged and crossed his arms. "You saw them at the game. That's what Harry's life will be like at school if he goes to Hogwarts or tries to build any kind of life in Britain. I want to give him options and France is one of them."

"If anyone finds out you're going to send Harry to school in France-"

"It doesn't concern them, it's no one's business where I send him!" Thomas yelled, almost snarling at Sirius who was tired of Thomas using him as a punching bag when he couldn't get his hands on the Wizarding World.

"Have you any idea what they'll do?" Sirius yelled back. "I don't like it either, but Dumbledore will never stand for it. He'll have Harry attend Hogwarts even if he has to get the Wizengamot to pass a law to make it happen."

"And if he even tries to force Harry to do something he doesn't want to do I'll make Voldemort's rise seem like a vacation," Thomas growled low and dangerous and not for a second did Sirius doubt he could do it.

"Merlin, Potter," he breathed. "Don't… Don't be so fucking convincing, because it scares the shit out of me."

Thomas laughed but there was nothing reassuring in the sound. It reeked of hysteria.

"Don't ever have kids, Black, they really mess you up," Thomas said and Sirius was relieved to hear him sounding almost normal again.

"I thought we'd progressed to using first names," Sirius noted, smiling as the tension flowed from the room.

"I could never call you Sirius with a straight face," Thomas said. "Too many bad jokes."

"Yeah, my parents knew they hated me even before I was born."

It wasn't funny, but they both laughed.

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Harry turned ten with blond hair.

Another wizard had recognized Harry without his scar and even though the man had only wanted to shake his hand it scared Harry enough that he cried, yelled and begged until Sirius, who'd come to visit one day, took him to a hairdresser.

When Harry learned that he could go by himself to town and to the hairdresser blue streaks appeared midst the blond hair, soon joined by red and black.

The streaks disappeared when Thomas marched Harry to the hairdressers in town and swore none of them would do anything to the boy's hair unless he was with them. He even showed them Sirius' photograph to make sure Harry wouldn't use his godfather to get coloured streaks in his hair.

"If he gets piercings, I'm blaming you," Thomas told Sirius who just grinned and walked off to help Mrs Barret, the mother of one of Harry's friends and a recent divorcee, to bring the cake out to the garden.

Thomas glared at both of them; the radiant and blond woman who'd graciously volunteered to host the Birthday party when she heard Thomas had no one to help him, and at Sirius who wasted no time in charming the woman despite knowing it had been only a few weeks since her divorce had been finalized.

The fact that Sirius acted like a kid in a grown up's body didn't usually bother Thomas this much, but there were times when he wondered why he'd ever allowed Sirius to return after he'd introduced himself.

And Sirius was smart. He pretended so hard that he wasn't that sometimes he fooled even himself, but when it came down to it Sirius wasn't stupid, and he'd already commented on Thomas's lack of accent, and had probably noticed how alike Harry and Thomas looked.

Admitting to knowing about the Horcruxes probably hadn't been a very smart move either, but if he hadn't told Sirius what he knew he might have dragged Harry to Dumbledore without Thomas knowing and if that ever happened… Thomas wasn't actually sure what would happen, but what he did know was that he didn't want to find out.

Speaking with Dumbledore that one time had been bad enough and it had taken all his strength to keep the battling and conflicted emotions, the rage, sadness, and even some lingering fondness he could not shake from appearing on his face, or in his words. Banishing Dumbledore from the house had been done just as much for him as it had been for Harry. Bringing up the Dursleys had been the worst mistake Dumbledore could have made.

He'd understood the need for them, but he could never quite forgive and it infuriated him that Dumbledore wanted to do it again, to yet another small boy who'd had no one to care for him.

And Sirius…He didn't dare use his first name because he feared that if he spoke it aloud he'd put too much affection behind it, affection not meant for the man now laughing at something Mrs Barret had said.

There were many people he should and had avoided, but among those that were most dangerous were Dumbledore and Sirius and the other of those men he had invite to his life, revealed much of himself, too much, he sometimes feared when a look from Sirius was too long or weighing, when he answered a question from Sirius, only too late to notice that he had replied with truth without first comparing it to the life of Thomas Potter.

Mrs Barret slapped Sirius lightly on his shoulder and the man let out another booming laughter, his head thrown back, mouth wide open and neck bear to the world. Trusting, wild, rash, idiotic… There were so many adjectives to describe Sirius and most of them came with a negative label. Yet when they were added to Sirius Black's charisma and personality, all those negatives turned to positive and you soon forgot what you ever had against the man in the first place.

Thomas turned away from him and looked further into the garden where Harry was standing with one of his closest friends, Mrs Barret's son Martin, waving a stick like a sword or a… wand…

Casting one glance at the other children and parents Thomas made his way to Harry and Martin, hoping like hell Harry wasn't breaking the Statute of Secrecy, because it'd be too dangerous to _Obliviate_ a child and Thomas wasn't that good with the charm even with adults.

"Harry," he started to say just when the boy waved the stick in an achingly familiar manner and yelled,

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

"Harry!" Thomas yelled, glancing over his shoulder at everyone else, who thankfully were now entertained by Sirius, even the children.

"Don't worry, Martin's a wizard too," Harry said, confidence much too like his godfather's for Thomas's comfort in his voice. "His dad's a French wizard and he turned his cat blue, so I told him I'm a wizard too. Can you show him a spell?"

Thomas pressed his hand against his forehead and tried not to have a seizure. It wouldn't do for him to fall down and start twitching in a kid's Birthday party.

"Are you sure Harry, because if you're not…" he let the words hang in the air and watched the other boy a little more closely than he had before.

Martin wasn't a shy kid, but neither was he a troublemaker, except when Harry shared some of Sirius' crazy ideas with the boy and Thomas received a note from school asking him to talk to the boy about the proper use of toilet paper, or something similar.

"There's cake," Harry said and gestured weekly towards the crowd already gathered around the table that had been brought to the garden. "I think they'll come looking for the Birthday boy soon," he finished.

"Can I dye my hair red?" Harry asked.

"No!" Thomas yelled. "Isn't blond bad enough?"

"Purple?"

"Why not green?"

"Can I?"

"No!"

"Harry!" Sirius yelled and waved his arms, beckoning the boy and Thomas gave him a little push in the back.

Laughing Harry and Martin ran to the table where Mrs Barret shared a fond smile with Sirius, but it turned a touch bitter when Sirius turned from her and his eyes found Thomas walking towards them behind the running boys and the smile that had before been friendly quickly changed into something more intimate.

She sighed, a little disappointed, but when Harry and her son reached the table her smile had returned and she ruffled Harry's blond hair fondly before the boy blew out the candles.

She even managed to smile warmly at Thomas when she handed him a slice of the cake she had baked for the party she had offered to host, in the hopes of meeting the dark haired gentleman that always visited the Potters, and whom Martin always spoke of so animatedly about.

Watching at the pair of them she now doubted it was just his responsibility to the child that kept him coming back, but it would take a while yet for neither to notice and perhaps nothing would even come of it. Mr Potter was a rather handsome man, after all and the boy's already got along so well…


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Comments, critique, opinions, all welcomed and appreciated.

* * *

"You're really going to go through with it?" Sirius asked, picking up a pale blue pamphlet from the desk.

"Martin's father works at the French Ministry and he doesn't think there'll be any problems," Thomas said, snatching the pamphlet back from Sirius. "And if he's in France, then maybe he won't keep colouring his hair and hoping that one day he'll wake up with a different face."

Sirius collapsed on the chair in front of the desk, sucked his lower lip to his mouth and chewed on it, making small distressed noises like a worried dog. Thomas had the impression that if he'd been Padfoot right now his tail would be between his legs, and his ears would be hanging. He looked pitiful, but in an oddly endearing way.

"He's not doing it as much as he did," Sirius pointed out.

"And maybe he'll stop one day," Thomas said. "But I can't let him go to Hogwarts knowing what it'll do to him. You know what he's like. He'll try to do what everyone else wants him to do. With how they've built him up I wouldn't be surprised if he'd convince the Hat to place him in Gryffindor."

"There's nothing wrong with Gryffindor!" Sirius yelled, outraged. "Would you rather have him as a slimy Slytherin?"

"That's probably where the Hat would sort him," Thomas said. "But he wouldn't accept the Hat's decision, he'd fight it until it put him somewhere else, and that would most likely be Gryffindor, considering he doesn't really value Hufflepuff because of a certain someone, and isn't academic enough for Ravenclaw."

"So you're sending him to Beauxbatons?"

"It's better than Durmstrang," Thomas answered, smiling. "Besides, Martin's going to Beauxbatons and Harry wants to go to school with him."

"Martin could go to Hogwarts." Sirius suggested, but Thomas was already shaking his head before he had even finished the sentence.

"His father only agreed for Martin's mother to have custody of the boy if he went to school in France. Elaine would never risk losing her son."

Sirius arched an eyebrow and smirked suggestively. "Elaine, hmmm? Things going well between you, then?"

Thomas gave Sirius a look that suggested he'd just said something profoundly idiotic, which was a standard expression on Thomas's face, when Sirius came to visit. "Don't be a fool, Black. I can't get involved with anyone."

"Why not?" Sirius asked. "I don't think Harry would mind even if you did and everyone needs someone. When was the last time you got laid?"

"Despite what you think Black, not everything in my life is about Harry," Thomas spoke his biggest lie so far. "And when I've gotten laid is none of your business."

"That long, huh?" Sirius asked, still grinning and Thomas rose up, his hands fisted on the desk. "Hey, I get it. I spent years in Azkaban, not a lot of action there and it's hard to get back on the saddle. You know I've got some free time this Friday. What do you say we go out, check out the ladies in London? Harry's staying with Martin anyway so you won't have to worry about him."

"I'm not going drinking with you Black," Thomas said, walking around the desk so he could go loom over Sirius, who unfortunately wasn't at all intimidated.

"What's it going to take for you to start calling me Sirius?" the man asked, his tone and face suddenly grim. "I know it isn't because you don't like me. No one could spend this much time around me and still stand against the power of my charming person."

Thomas snorted, an unintentional grin tugging at his lips.

"Let's go have a pint on Friday. No harm in just having a pint at the pub, right?"

Thomas knew he should say no, that absolutely nothing could come of a Sirius Black combined with alcohol, but it had been too long since he'd gone out and he had nothing else to do on Friday.

He leaned back against the desk, tilting his head so he could stare at the ceiling and wouldn't have to look at Sirius and his almost pleading face. "Just for a pint?" he asked, and though he was sure it was just his imagination, he swore he could feel the other man's victorious grin.

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Just how big a mistake going out drinking had been dawned on Thomas after the third pint when he found his eyes glued to Sirius' throat when the man swallowed. He should've remembered that _In_ _Vino Veritas_ and stayed at home watching the flames flicker in his fireplace, because the truth had never brought him anything but pain.

"Found anyone you like yet?" Sirius asked after finishing his beer.

"Not really," Thomas muttered and stood, leaving almost half his beer. "It's late and I have a headache. You stay, the blond over there's leering at you."

"It's not even ten yet!" Sirius protested, but his gaze wondered to the blond and he winked. "I'm sure she's got friends," he suggested half heartedly.

"More for you then," Thomas muttered and walked out of the bar and into the brisk night air where he tried to clear his head by pressing it against the cool stone wall of the bar, ignoring the yelling and laughing people that pushed past him, the bar door opening and closing.

He imagined Sirius talking with the blond, laughing, smiling, kissing her and pushing his hand up her shirt. He imagined himself in her place and groaned, hit his head against the wall and hoped the ground would split open and swallow him whole.

How long had this been building up? Had he thought about Sirius even as a kid, when he'd kissed Ginny, made plans for their wedding? What if the attraction didn't stem from there, what if it came from the other set of memories, from the budding Dark Lord that enjoyed watching his classmates shower, who dreamt of strong, muscled limbs twitching under the _Cruciatus_, of male voices begging for mercy, kneeling before him, kissing his fee-

"Hey buddy, no passing out in front of the bar," the bouncer, shaking his shoulder ordered.

"It's okay, he's with me," Sirius, coming out of the pub told the man and waved him off. "Why didn't you say anything if you felt like throwing up?" Sirius asked, frowned and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Thomas asked, trying to sound angry, but it came out mostly as pathetic and needy, and he'd never in his life wanted to hit himself more.

"Taking you home, apparently," Sirius answered, looking worried. "If I'd known you can't handle even a few beers I wouldn't've dragged you out."

"It's not the beer," he snarled, pushing past Sirius. "It's the company."

"The fuck is your problem, Potter?" Sirius seemed to have finally reached his limit, jerked Thomas back by his shoulder and slammed him against the wall.

"Hey no fighting! Take it somewhere else!" The bouncer was back, glaring at both of them now.

Thomas pushed off the wall, shoved Sirius so he stumbled off the sidewalk against a parked car that's alarm went off, turning everyone's attention to them. Thomas glanced at the gathering crowd that was watching interestedly at the beginning fight, and intended to walk away, but Sirius once again jerked him back and this time he kept his grip around Thomas's arm.

"I want to know what your problem is, Potter!" Sirius screamed it at his face, his breath warm against Thomas's face and smelling of mead and salt, and Thomas wanted to taste in his mouth, just like he wanted to taste the sweat on Sirius' skin on his tongue, bite down and break skin, lick away the blood.

"I already told you what the problem is Black," Thomas hissed and wrenched his arm free. "Don't fucking follow me and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from the house for the next few weeks."

He started walking, almost running from Sirius and could still hear him yelling when he turned a corner. "Thomas! Get the fuck back here Thomas and tell me what the hell just happened!"

Sirius caught him just as he was about to wave a cab, took hold of his arm and throwing him against a wall again. Thomas's breaths came quick and shallow, almost panicked and he stared at the man standing over him with his hands fisted, mouth drawn together tightly, and prayed he could think of anything else but how good he looked.

"Did someone slip you something in your drink? Is that it? Because you look like you're running from ghosts or something. Are you seeing things?"

There was worry mixed in the fury now, and Thomas let out a strangled sob before pushing his palm against his eyes, hoping, praying that when he opened his eyes the only thing he would see was Sirius Black, the godfather of his ward, the idiot.

Yet that man was gone and in his place stood this man whose laughter made him smile, who made him laugh helplessly in both horror and amusement, whom he wanted see lying in his bed beneath him.

"It's all gone to hell," Thomas said and then laughed when Sirius only stared at him in confusion.

"That's it, I'm taking you to bed," Sirius told him, making Thomas's laugh louder, with an edge of panic. And when Sirius drew him up Thomas sagged against him, pretending to be drunk so he could inhale the scent of the other man's skin and feel the press of his body against his. "If I'd known you can't handle your liquor, I never would have taken you out drinking."

Thomas closed his eyes and let out a startled yell when he felt the pull of apparition. "Where the hell are we?" he asked, when he looked up and saw a dark street.

"My home is at number Twelve Grimmauld Place," Sirius said.

"I know that," Thomas answered, frowning and then turned around to look at the old house. "You took us here, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Sirius told him and dragged him up the stairs to the front door and to the lobby, where to Thomas's surprise a certain portrait was missing, along with the dust and grime. "Things have changed since then."

"I can see that," Thomas muttered and shrugged Sirius' arm from around him so he could turn around and get a better look at the place. "You've cleaned." There was amazement in his voice and outright disbelief when he looked at Sirius who didn't seem to appreciate his lack of fate in the other man's abilities. "You live here?" Thomas asked and started to walk towards the stairs with a step that was much steadier than before.

"I do," Sirius answered from behind him, his forehead creased, staring at the other man with some confusion. "Kreacher… he's been a lot more accommodating since the locket. After Dumbledore spoke to him and then destroyed it. I never knew he liked Regulus that much."

He followed Thomas up the stairs and to the third floor where the man started opening doors and looking through the bedrooms with interest that seemed anything but casual, with eyes far too focused for a man that had only a few moments ago been heaving against a wall outside a bar.

"You're not drunk at all, are you?" Sirius asked and when Thomas turned the look at him, and blinked, looking dazed.

"Just a little," Thomas answered and backed inside one of the bedrooms. "Mind if I spend the night?"

Sirius shrugged and Thomas shut himself inside the bedroom, leaving Sirius standing in the hallway, staring at the closed door. Inside the room Thomas sagged down on the floor and pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead. If Sirius hadn't followed him, if he hadn't gone drinking with him, if he'd never allowed Sirius to see Harry, if he hadn't returned to Britain, if he'd…

Eventually he got up from the floor and turned towards the bed. It was large with dark blue curtains, and the sheets were white and pristine with small pale blue and silver flowers. It seemed much too feminine for Sirius to have picked out the fabrics.

He walked to the closet and opened it, finding nothing but empty shelves. But when he turned there was a long white nightshirt on the bed, a dark blue robe on the back of the chair and a pitcher with water and a glass on the bedside table.

Kreacher really had become much more accommodating.

0

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0

Thomas woke to the sunlight. It nearly blinded him when he opened his eyes, so he pulled his arm over his head and turned around trying to fall back asleep, but it was useless. He could feel the light warming his back and some bird had landed behind the window. It would impossible to fall asleep again.

Still blurry eyed Thomas climbed off the bed and reached out for the light blue robe and pulled it on. He tied it close and decided to see if he could get some coffee, or at least tea in the kitchen. There wasn't a watch in the room and pulling his wand from somewhere from the pile of his discarded clothes seemed like too much work, so he had no idea what time it was, but he doubted Sirius was up yet.

He was proven right when he passed the sitting room and heard Sirius' snores, glanced inside the room and saw the man sleeping on the couch with a bottle of scotch on the table.

Stifling a yawn under his hand Thomas headed to the kitchen, mussing his hair and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He blinked and smiled dreamily when he saw a full pot of coffee. He was still too tired to care where or how the coffee had appeared, was just glad it was there.

He reached up to the cabinets, opening a few before finding the one with the mugs and then poured himself a cup. He walked over to the cold cabinet, pulled out some milk, mixed it with the coffee, closed the cabinet, leaned against the counter, and with his eyes closed nearly drained the whole cup.

And then someone cleared their throat.

Thomas opened his eyes and stared at the group of people gathered around the kitchen table, most of them painfully familiar and among them, beaming at him from over his half moon spectacles was Dumbledore. Yet the one Thomas suspected of the throat clearing had been Molly Weasley, standing beside her husband.

Remus Lupin had covered his mouth and Thomas suspected he was hiding a wide grin behind it, and Mundungus Fletcher didn't even bother to hide the wide smirk on his face. Alastor Moody stared at him suspiciously, his fake eye whirling and beside him were Kingsley and an unfamiliar woman. Snape and McGonagall, both in garb similar to their teaching robes, were frowning at him, yet Snape's glare was almost murderous and Thomas had no doubt his identity had been discovered.

"Thomas!" Sirius yelled, running into the kitchen. "There's some people coming, so maybe you should-"

"Ah, Sirius," Dumbledore's jovial voice interrupted him. "Nice of you to join us. Though we weren't expecting you to bring a guest." There was a subtle reprimand in his voice and Sirius grimaced.

"Giving out the secret just to anyone, Black, what were you thinking? He could be a spy!" Moody grunted.

"Clearly, he was not thinking, as usual," Snape sneered.

"This is my home, and I'll invite whomever I wish!" Sirius growled at Snape, avoiding both Dumbledore and Moody's gaze. "You can leave whenever you want!"

Thomas scowled at his coffee, wishing he could take back the last few minutes. He could have stayed quite comfortably hidden in the four poster bed, or even joined Sirius in the sitting room, instead of running into the kitchen in the midst of what looked like an Order meeting.

He glanced at the group of people and evaluated the different looks he was receiving. Most were uncertain, Snape's hostile, Remus' amused, yet the most frightening was the smile Molly was giving him. There was something maternal in that look and any minute now he expected to hear an offer to have some breakfast.

"You want something to eat?" Surprisingly this came from Sirius, not Molly, though the woman did radiate approval.

"I should probably just head home and let you go on with your secret meeting," Thomas muttered and placed his half drank coffee on the sink. The stares directed at him were starting to feel uncomfortable and he just wanted to leave the kitchen, the whole house.

"You sure?" Sirius looked so much like a puppy that Thomas had the sudden urge to pat him on the head. He even felt his hand twitch up, but aborted the movement before it could even start.

"I'm sure," Thomas said, and after one last sideway glance at the group gathered around the table, he fled. As his feet touched the stairs he heard shouts and yells erupt in the kitchen as everyone tried to talk at once. Yet the most prominent sound was Remus' laughter.

Thomas nearly ran up the stairs and once in the bedroom he'd spent the night in, he practically tore the robe and nightshirt off him, and only wearing his boxers searched the room for his clothes. He eventually found them cleanly folded on an armchair, his wand on top off them.

He was just about to pull his shirt over his head when Sirius rushed in, looking just as scruffy as he had in the kitchen, with bags under his eyes and his jaw unshaven. "I'm sorry," he said, ruffling his hair and standing uncomfortable at the doorway while Thomas pulled the shirt on. "I forgot they were coming today."

"It's fine," Thomas assured and pulled his jeans form under the jacket and then searched for his belt, frowning when he didn't see it right away. "I shouldn't have gone out with you in the first place."

The door slammed close and Thomas turned, the jeans still hanging from his grip. Sirius stood with his arms crossed across his chest, a dark scowl on his face. "Why not?" he asked, sounding petulant, more than anything else, and it occurred to Thomas that perhaps he shouldn't have said anything.

"I just meant…" Thomas sighed, frustrated and pulled his jeans on and focused on buttoning them close, but the last one was still unbuttoned when Sirius' shadow fell on him and he looked up, finding Sirius' face far too close to his own. Uncomfortable Thomas took a step back only to realise that right behind his back was the wall. "You mind backing up?" he asked, annoyed that he had to look up to see Sirius' eyes.

"I want to know what happened last night," Sirius said.

"Nothing happened last night," Thomas answered and pushed against Sirius, but the man refused to move.

"Something happened and that something made you act like an asshole," Sirius insisted.

Thomas gritted his teeth, pushed Sirius harder and managed to move him enough so he could reach and pick up his jacket and wand that were still lying on the chair. "I had a headache," he snarled between his clenched teeth, glaring at Sirius. "That makes me irritable."

"That wasn't irritable," Sirius shouted. "That was-" he flung his arms wide and stared at the ceiling, lost for words. "Well it was something!" he finally yelled when any other words refused to come.

"It doesn't matter," Thomas – who had almost convinced himself that his attraction to this man had been his imagination – muttered.

Sirius, who wasn't prepared to give up tried one more time. "Thomas," he said and took Thomas by the shoulder, his fingers brushing against the skin on his neck. "Thomas?"

Thomas smacked Sirius' hand away and yelled, "Don't touch me! Just… don't touch me!" He moved to stand by the bed and muttered "I need to get out of this house."

"I could-"

"I think you have your hands full with the secret meeting," Thomas interrupted before Sirius could offer his help, and turned to face the man. Sirius was frowning, that frighteningly thoughtful look in his eyes, and Thomas forced himself to stare back, despite how much he wanted to hide from the look.

"It's really not as pathetic as you make it sound," Sirius, said, and grinned crookedly, after it was clear that Thomas was not willing to speak about last night. "How'd you know it's a secret meeting?"

"You must be joking?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, relieved Sirius was letting him change the subject, yet still nervous, knowing it was only temporary. "You have a Fidelius and the one with the freaky eye practically confirmed it by screaming at you for giving out the secret."

Sirius shrugged. "You've got a point," he conceded.

"Have you," Thomas licked his lips. "Talked to them about Harry?"

Sirius shuffled nervously and glanced at the closed door. "Not in this house, Thomas. It's mine, but I've opened it up to a lot of people. It isn't exactly," he grimaced, "private anymore."

Thomas smiled in relief. "I'm glad," he said.

"That I have no more privacy?" Sirius joked, and because Thomas knew Sirius had understood him, he remained silent.

There was a knock on the door and Sirius glanced at Thomas who shrugged. No point in pretending he wasn't there when everyone he should have avoided had seen him crawling into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

He tensed when Sirius opened the door, and wondered if it would be Dumbledore or Molly Weasley on the other side. It would be more difficult to face the Weasley matriarch, than the old man with his clever words and small smiles.

Yet it was neither that stepped into the room but Remus Lupin, who despite his prematurely greyed hair looked far younger and cheerful than Thomas remembered him. His robes that Thomas remembered as worn were now, though not new, well kept. There wasn't a single patched tear or a hanging thread in the dark blue fabric, and his shoes shone of newness.

Getting back a friend when he'd thought he'd lost them all had done Remus well and Thomas was happy, even if it meant that the man Thomas had known was gone. But perhaps here Remus Lupin wouldn't die and leave his son without parents. Maybe now, Teddy Lupin wouldn't even be born.

He'd twisted the lines of fate and disturbed not only his own life, but others. Perhaps some children wouldn't be born and others that had lived would die. But he couldn't regret it, not when he could look at Harry and see him happy, free of the Dursleys and the expectations of a whole nation and hear Sirius laugh freely without an edge of insanity.

"Hey," Remus said and grinned at both of them, looking for some reason extremely uncomfortable. The reason soon became apparent when he turned his focus on Thomas and spoke. "Dumbledore wants you to come downstairs and talk with us."

Thomas lowered his head and glanced at Sirius, noticing the grimace on the other man's face. "This isn't the first time he's asked," Thomas spoke, certain of it.

"You've made it clear you want nothing to do with Dumbledore," Sirius answered. "And I've respected that. But now that you've appeared before him, it's…"

"Difficult," Remus finished for him. "He won't leave before you've talked to him."

"I'd rather not deal with this now," Thomas told them both, uncrossing his arms, making it easier for him to draw his wand if it came to it. Both Remus and Sirius tensed, perhaps understanding what the shift in his stance meant, or just reacting on instinct honed to perfection by the paranoia of a war fought ten years ago and never quite forgotten, even in self-induced isolation or inside the walls of Azkaban.

"You don't have to," Sirius said and moved to stand beside the wardrobe. "Close the door," he told Remus, and once the door was closed, Sirius slid his hand along the wall, fingers stretched. Then he pushed on a certain spot, and the wall on the other side of the wardrobe, behind Thomas slid aside, revealing a dark passageway, surprisingly free of dust.

"There's a secret passageway in this room?" Thomas asked.

Sirius grinned. "I think it belonged to a mistress once upon a time. The corridor goes past the master bedroom."

"Fine room you chose for your guest, Sirius," Remus commented, eyebrows far enough on his forehead so they competed with his fringe.

To Thomas's amusement Sirius turned bright red and pointed a finger at Thomas. "He chose it!"

"Ah, the lady doth protest too much," Remus grinned victoriously, only causing Sirius' flush to deepen and spread to his neck, making Thomas laugh.

Sirius grunted, clearly embarrassed, but the look he gave Thomas held a question the man could not read, yet it brought back all his earlier thoughts of Sirius with a rush, and forced heat on his face. Flustered Thomas gestured at the opening with his hands. "Does this lead outside?"

Grateful for the change of topic Sirius nodded. "To the backyard. You can get to the street from the garden gate."

Thomas licked his lips and glanced at Remus once before stepping inside the passageway. He looked back at Sirius after a few steps and said, "I'll… see you again in a few days, or…"

Sirius grinned, less boisterously than earlier but with a lightness that Thomas had come to appreciate. Nothing too grave could happen when there was such ease in Sirius' smile. "It might take a while. Dumbledore's not an easy man to discourage."

Thomas nodded and kept his eyes on Sirius when the wall panel slid back in place, and he was left in the darkness of the passageway. Once sure no one could see him Thomas allowed himself to sag against the wall and his face twisted into an ugly sneer.

It was so easy to let go and like Sirius, to desire him. There was no one more charming and only a few as good looking. Even with all his faults Sirius was someone Thomas could easily see himself remain friends for a long time, and every moment they spent together he found himself thinking that perhaps there was a possibility for more than friendship there. But that was foolish and dangerous, to imagine things based on nothing but friendly banter and a few looks and smiles that hinted, but never explicitly said anything.

Looks, smiles, they could all be explained away, even the jokes were something that could be waved off and they would be. Thomas could not afford to act on them, not if he wished to keep Sirius in his life, in Harry's life.

Because he could not bare losing Sirius, not even this man, who was different version of the man that had fallen through the veil. Attraction could vanish just as easily as it had grown.

Sirius had been right. He needed to get laid.

"Master says Kreacher must lead master Potter safely, undetected from the house," Kreacher announced his presence and Thomas was pulled from his grim thoughts. He straightened and lifted his chin up.

"Lead the way, Kreacher," he told the elf, glaring at it. It looked happy to be on the receiving end of disdain from a wizard, twisted little thing as it was.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Yes, it's been a horribly long time, and it's a horribly short update, but at least there's an update. Right?

Feedback of any kind very much appreciated.

* * *

Thomas was sitting in the study with the newspaper when he felt the wards surrounding the house react and capture someone. He tilted his head, waited for a moment, but when nothing else happened he remained seated, confident that the wards would keep whoever it was that had attempted to enter the property contained. He would have most likely finished reading his newspaper if Harry, sporting caramel red hair, had not rushed into the room, looking anxious.

"There's a man at the gate keeled over, he looks like he's in pain!" Harry shouted and waved his arms towards the window.

"I know," Thomas answered and turned the page on his newspaper.

"Shouldn't we help him?" Harry asked, still frantic. "Thomas?" he spoke his cousin's name hesitantly and the man finally lifted his gaze from the paper to look at the boy who would within a few months turn eleven. "How long have you known he's out there?"

Thomas frowned at the suspicious tone of Harry's voice, yet did not answer. Instead he stood and said, "Go to your room, Harry. I'll take care of it."

"He's in pain," Harry said in a demanding tone. "He's in pain and you don't care."

As it was not really a question, not when Harry stated it like a fact, Thomas didn't answer and neither did he rush to defend his actions, simply returned the boy's stubborn and accusatory stare with a blank and emotionless look.

"Upstairs," Thomas finally repeated his order for the boy to leave when it became clear Harry was not going to be quelled by just a look.

Harry fisted his hands and frowned, his mouth a thin line, but he turned on his heals and ran out of the room, stomping his feet on the stairwell. A loud bang echoing through the house told Thomas the boy had slammed his bedroom door that thankfully was located on the other side of the house, and had no view of the gate. Thomas could only hope Harry remained in his room, as he had no doubt the encounter he was about to have with the intruder was something he did not want Harry witnessing.

He went to the window and looked outside and at the figure hunched over by the gate. To his surprise he saw black, greasy hair that blocked Thomas' view of the man's face, yet the nose was easily recognisable, as was the sallow skin and the long fingers curved around the man's biceps. Severus Snape was not who he had imagined had gotten caught in the web of his wards. He had not thought even Dumbledore foolish enough to send the man, yet it was not the first and undoubtedly not the last time Dumbledore would commit an act incomprehensible to others, especially when it concerned Severus Snape, be it for the man's benefit or detriment.

Thomas moved to the front door and stepped outside, closed the door behind him and laid his hand flat on the wooden surface and incanted a phrase under his breath, one that would ensure there was no way for Harry to slip out and overhear something he shouldn't, or do what most boy's were prone to do when they were furious with their guardians; run off.

As Thomas got closer to the gate and their uninvited guest, he observed the hunched figure of Snape with interest. As Snape was the first bearer of the Dark Mark that had attempted to gain access to the property, this was the first time Thomas saw with his own eyes how his ward reacted.

Contrary to what Harry thought, it was not pain that kept Snape kneeled on the ground, pale and shivering, but terror. Terror that grew more intense with each moment the man spent within the wards, that made him twitch and stare with wide; frightened eyes in the direction of every sound he heard, that caused him to stare at Thomas with pure horror.

Thomas reached Snape, and smiled thinly when the man gave out a whimper as Thomas stopped right in front of him. He basked in the look of terror on Snape's face and considered what he should do with the traitor that had finally found his proper place, grovelling before him.

Not all of Riddle had been lost and not all of Potter had survived. Had the joining of their souls not been so complete, Thomas was sure the almost complete opposites of their personalities, their desires would have driven him mad.

"For the wards to react in such away, you must carry a significant amount of Dark Magic on your person," Thomas spoke with a cold drawl, not bothering to mask the enjoyment he gained at Snape's predicament. "What a nasty person you must be," he hissed with a pleased smirked and laughed in delight as Snape crouched further, attempting to coil into himself.

"No- Not- Not Dark ma-" Snape stuttered and despite himself Thomas was impressed that the man was still capable of coherent thought, even if he could not speak them clearly. "It's the Mark," Snape managed to spit out, and somehow raise his gaze, and to Thomas' utter surprise he found defiance beneath the terror shining in Snape's dark eyes.

"Clever man," Thomas muttered, impressed and wondered if he should end the man's cleverness here. It would be unfortunate to have a mind like Snape's working against him, yet he was needed. He was the only one of the Death Eater's that had betrayed Voldemort, the only one still alive, at least, and Thomas knew he would become invaluable should Voldemort manage to resurrect himself.

Eventually Thomas simply placed his foot against Snape's side and pushed him back so that Snape stumbled over the property line, far enough from the wards influence that he could stand on his own.

"Why do I have a Death Eater at my gate?" Thomas asked and Snape sneered at the question, still looking pale, his eyes shifting from side to side, looking for the cause of his terror, despite knowing he would find nothing.

"How do you know enough about the Dark Mark to be able to manipulate wards to correspond to it?" Snape asked in turn, instead of answering.

Thomas pulled out his wand and pointed it at Snape. "I'm not above cursing you, Death Eater," he threatened, keeping his voice deliberately void of any emotion. It wasn't as hard as he would have imagined, considering how much he loathed the man. It was not just Riddle's fury against a follower that had betrayed him, there was Potter's anger at the unfair treatment from his teacher, the baseless anger directed at a boy forced to pay for his father's sins. Yet most of all there was the feeling of betrayal, of so many things Snape had withheld from an orphan boy desperate to hear anything of his parents, especially from someone that had loved his mother.

"Dumbledore sent me," Snape finally answered, chin raised, lip curled in a smirk that radiated arrogance and Thomas knew Snape believed that was all he needed to say to have his way. In most cases, it would have. Rarely did people go against Dumbledore's wishes, even if they loathed the man. It wasn't wise to insult powerful wizards.

"And why would Dumbledore send a Death Eater to my house?" Thomas asked, cocking an eyebrow and never lowering his wand. "Unless he doesn't know you're marked. Or you're lying. In any case it makes no difference. I have no business with Dumbledore and I refuse to allow anyone with that mark branded onto their skin in the same house as Harry."

"You shall have no choice once he begins at Hogwarts as I am the Potion's Teacher," Snape told him, the smirk gone, replaced by a more familiar sneer.

Thomas opened his mouth, prepared to inform Snape Harry would not be attending Hogwarts, but managed to rein in his temper just in time, and only let out a frustrated sigh, lowering his wand. "Did you actually have any business with me, or was this just a social call?" he asked Snape, whose gaze wandered from Thomas to the house, and he knew from the narrowing of Snape's eyes and the tightening of his mouth, that Harry had not stayed in his room, but had come to one of the windows from where he could see the two of them.

"Harry Potter," Snape said the name strangely, not spoken with venom and spite as Thomas had began to expect, but with a neutral tone, as if Snape had not yet decided what to think of the boy. "The Headmaster is naturally curious, and would like to meet him. He has invited you both to attend Hogwarts leaving feast next week. It would give the boy a chance to see the school and get to know the teachers."

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline." Even if Thomas was not so adamant on keeping Dumbledore as far as he could from both of them, Harry was still not prepared for what it would undoubtedly be like to be the centre of so much attention, from so many people, even if most of them would be children.

"You cannot keep him locked up in your house and separated from the Wizarding World always, Potter," Snape told him. "He will have to face reality at some point, he'll need to be prepared!"

Thomas felt his eyebrows raise in surprise at Snape's outburst and the man, seeming to realise he had said too much turned away, paled and then flushed. He kept his eyes diverted from Thomas, and every now and then he would glance up at the house, at what Thomas presumed was the sight of Harry standing by a window.

"Harry," Thomas said, drawing Snape's attention back to himself. "Is not as separated from the Wizarding World, or reality as you and your," Thomas curled his lip as he spoke the next word "_master_ seem to imagine. Neither do I see why those two points would have anything to do with him attending Hogwarts' leaving feast. Do all students receive similar invitations from the Headmaster?" he asked mockingly, deliberately pointing out something that had once been Snape's favourite subject; the special treatment Dumbledore granted the famous boy-who-lived.

"Not all students are in the boy's position, nor do they have a guardian such as yourself, who so adamantly refuses to allow him any contact with anyone of authority," Snape replied, the words practically dripping with disdain.

"You are accusing me of what, exactly, Mr Snape?" Thomas asked, unable to repress his smile, though there was nothing in the situation that amused him. "The only authority Harry needs in his life is me, his guardian."

"Until he begins his schooling," Snape replied, and when Thomas' smile turned from menacing to genuine, frowned in confusion.

"I think it's time you left, Mr Snape," Thomas said, and without bothering to wait if Snape had a response turned his back on the man and returned to the house, all along aware of Harry's gaze on him.

No doubt the boy had prepared a list of questions, not to mention accusations to present to Thomas, concerning his behaviour towards someone who in the boy's mind had done nothing wrong, yet Thomas had no intention of answering them. Even if Thomas had to endure a moody boy for the summer, he could bare it, knowing Harry would be safe, and out of Dumbledore's reach at Beauxbatons once summer ended.


End file.
